A/N: Figuring out how to write this chapter correctly, with everything I wanted to happen happening, was a real b*tch. Still, I'm somewhat satisfied with what I ended up with.

A/N2: Also I realize the letter at the end wasn't very well written, and could easily confuse readers. Fixed it.

The rooftops were an Assassin's home. Being up amongst the shingles gave her an odd comfort; this was her own world, especially at the time of night. Of course, this could not last much longer, she was approaching the apartment of her mark. She planned to enter through the balcony. That way she would not have to pick a lock in the middle of the street.

Arriving at night was a double-edged sword. It meant far less people to observe her approach and escape, but also meant François-Thomas would likely be home and in bed. Still, she had decided the benefits outweighed the risks.

The balcony would be on the opposite side of the roofs. Once she got to general store with the broken window, she would know to cross over. From there, she would jump and land on the balcony railing. She knew from experience those kind of landings, though laborious to learn and master, tended to be fairly quiet.

Élise saw the general store. She climbed up the steep, rough shingles, peaked over the side, and saw her target destination.

She ascended in full and leapt, giving herself to the air.

She landed on the black metal with a soft foot fall. She wobbled briefly.

There was no indication she had roused her target, if he was even in bed. That was great. Élise softly touched down on the balcony floor. She approached the door and listened again. Nothing. He was not in the bedroom. She slowly opened the balcony door, hoping it would not creak. It opened smoothly.

Only the moon lit the bedroom chamber. His bed was simple, no fancy quilting like she was used to with her targets, and she could see he had a pistol on his nightstand. The furniture was simple, bland, and practical. It reminded her of her old home in Normandy. To think someone contracted by the king could fall into this type of modesty.

Then she heard footsteps, someone ascending stairs. Her mind rushed for a place to hide, to ambush. There was a large wardrobe. She made her way, quick but quiet footfalls, and pressed herself.

She slowly, gently reached for her pistol. She would not use it to kill him, that would attract too much noise, but it still had its utilities in this kind of situation.

He entered, the creak of the door loud. The mark sighed, and closed the door behind him. He approached the foot of his bed. Élise could hear him beginning to disrobe.

She emerged from her hiding spot, pointing her pistol forwards with a finger on her lips. He jolted at the sight, almost stumbling over in his shock, but did not say anything. His cravat was undone and loose around his neck. She approached very softly, until her pistol was but a couple of feet from his chin. At this range, Élise could see his dichromatic eyes and the stubble on his fearful face.

"Why did you do it?" she said, just above a whisper. "Why betray our order?"

His widened eyes darted about. Sweat was forming on his brow. But he finally he swallowed hard, ready to give a dignified answer.

"The Templars have grown weak, soft. They've lost their ambition. Weishaupt, Robespierre, they know the way forward. And the way back. They've not forgotten what our order used to be. What had we brought about by soft revolutions? 1688? 1776? Meaningless. The tyranny of faith, dogma, superstition, selfishness...it's all alive and well. Kings may fall. Power may be dispersed. But we focused on the exterior and superficial. We lost the will to cleanse the spirit of the people."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"The only way it can be done."

His eyes briefly darted back down to the gun, before looking back into hers.

She asked, "Where did you take the Apple?"

He chuckled slightly, though his fear still evident. "You wouldn't want it back."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He did not say a word. The silence was tense. His skin glistened. He moved his eyes backs towards her gun.

"Now what are you going to do? Kill me? When that gun thunders-"

In a quick, blurry motion she snapped his neck, dropping the pistol with a clatter in the process. It had not been loaded regardless. She made sure the descent of his heavy body was more gentle. At least he had died in his home.

"Farewell, traitor."

Now the house was free of anything to worry about. She loosened her muscles and picked up her pistol, those mismatched eyes giving her one last stare. As she rose, she had done copious sweating herself.

Reholstering her gun, she saw a candle and match box nearby. She took advantaged, lighting a candle. She approached the bedroom door and opened it, still moving softly and slowly even though she was nearly certain she was alone. The former Assassin began down the stairs; they creaked, though now that was of little consequence.

Her focus homed in on a desk near the front door. Through the weak mix of candle and moon light from the glass above the entrance door, Élise could make out a torn envelope and letter. She approached.

Élise took a reflexive glanced both ways and then set down her candle and picked it up, orange light flickering upon the ink words:

My brave agent,

Thank you tremendously for the information. After careful consideration, Brother Spartacus and I have decided it is better we not ignore the king's flight. While there are some strategic advantages to having him out of Paris, he seeks safety in Fort Montmédy, and safety is precisely what breeds corruption. Let his efforts turn on their head. Let us slay him on his journey.

We are setting up an ambush on the highway to Varennes, the town thirty miles West. Please send Stefan to this town. He will know what to do from there. He will return to protect you again once the job is done.

Even after the king expires, your connection to him will still prove useful. You will tell the public confided his intentions in you - to gather the troops garrisoned at Montmédy for a counter-revolution. A lie, I know, but one that serves the greater good. In the mean time I will look for a credible subject to reinforce your testimony. Maybe two. Then the people will lose what little faith they have left in the goodness of monarchy.

-R